


We Two Are One

by elrhiarhodan



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Eobarry, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Sex Toys, Time Travel Complications, Too Much Big Belly Burger, Unexpectedly Married, alternative universe, barrison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 18:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8068114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: Barry makes a little trip back in time, just to fix a mistake Joe had made.  He comes home and finds that just a few things have changed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a terrific tumblr prompt from a nonnie. See end notes for more about that.
> 
> Title from the Eurhythmics' song of the same name.

Barry thinks he has the whole time-travel thing nailed down. It needs to be a surgical strike: go back, change only the one thing, and come home. No side quests, no distractions. Just do what you have to do and leave.

And that's just what he does. 

Three years ago, Joe had screwed up. Because he hadn't signed back in an important piece of evidence and therefore, a serial killer is going to walk, to get a chance to kill again. Barry knows that Joe will carry that shame and guilt forever, that it just might infect the rest of his life.

All Barry needs to do is get the evidence – fiber samples – logged back into the CCPD evidence locker. He doesn't even have to get Joe to do it. Barry will just whiz through the bullpen, get the bag from Joe's desk, whiz down to the locker, put the bag in the right box, sign the ledger, and leave. That's it. Simple. Easy-peasy.

And that's just what Barry does. He runs around the particle accelerator ring until a bright blue ball forms and he leaps into it, running until he gets to April 20, 2013. At 9:45 AM on a Saturday morning, it's unlikely that he'll run into himself at the CCPD, but he does have to be careful to avoid Joe. He had to pick a day he knows that Joe's been working – after all, no cop would be signing in an evidence bag if he's not on shift or otherwise at the station.

Barry nyooms through the CCPD bullpen, careful not to cause too much chaos, picks up the bag from Joe's desk and runs down to the evidence locker. He puts it into the correct case file, signs the log – Barry's had long practice in forging Joe's signature – and leaves. He races around the outskirts of Central City until he opens up another time portal and makes the trip home.

Soon enough, he sees the familiar confines of the accelerator tunnel and his own innate sense of time tells him it's now a few minutes before seven in the evening, on October 15, 2016, just ten or so minutes after he'd left. He decelerates and makes his way back up to the Cortex. 

Of course Barry hadn't told anyone what he was going to do, but he suspects that Cisco will eventually pick up the vibrations from the alternate timeline and give him hell for time traveling without telling anyone. Or for time traveling, period. 

It's worth it, though – Joe shouldn't suffer, nor should Central City suffer – from an innocent mistake.

Barry pulls back his cowl and solidifies his cover story and the reason for the quick return – he was just checking out something for the CCPD; nothing that Cisco would have picked up on over the comms, and it's something that turns out to be nothing. 

But all thoughts of a cover story vanish when he enters the Cortex and sees who is waiting for him. There's Harry Wells, of course, and Cisco and Caitlin of course. But not "of course" is the man in a wheelchair. A man who should not have been there. A man who looks just like Harrison Wells.

Fortunately, they all seem to be looking at something that Cisco's showing them, and Barry stops at the doorway, unnoticed. He has just a few seconds to figure out what the hell is actually going on here.

From his profile, the man in the wheelchair looks like he's recovering from a long illness. And the wheelchair isn't Eobard Thawne's tricked out rig, but something lighter and more maneuverable. There's also a sturdy cane tucked in the side. Barry watches the team through the time dilation and can't discern anything out of the ordinary – except that there are two Harrison Wells, and they seem to be getting along _just fine_.

Barry clears his throat to announce his presence and everyone looks at him.

Harrison – the wheelchair Harrison – spins around and his whole face lights up. "Barry! You're home – I wasn't expecting you back so soon." He rolls over to Barry and he's all that Barry can see.

"I – uh – I" This Harrison's use of the first person singular is unusual and disconcerting. Harry wouldn't take his presence or absence personally – hell, he'd probably never remark on it – and Eobard, masquerading as Wells, always used the collective "we". 

And then there's the pleasure in this Harrison's tone and it sparks something in Barry. Something delicious and worrisome at the same time.

Harrison takes his hand, tugging him close. "Is everything all right?" Concern practically glows from his face. 

Barry licks his lips and nods. "Fine, fine – why?"

Harrison says, "You're looking a little lost. Anything happen out there that we should know about? And you usually don't come back from a patrol ten minutes after you leave."

Harry looks over at him, and Barry does his best to hide the shock at long scar that runs down Harry's face, as if someone had dragged a claw over Harry's cheek from brow to chin. _Zoom, perhaps?_ His eye – thankfully – is still there. Harry must see something in Barry's expression when he asks, "Allen? What's going on?"

"Uh – nothing. Just had some trouble with the comms." That's always a good excuse.

Harry gives him that all too familiar look of skepticism, made sinister by the scarring, but he doesn't press. 

Barry lets out a tiny sigh of relief – excuse enough for returning so quickly. "I figured I'd come back and get it sorted." He pulls out the earpieces.

Cisco checks the console and shrugs, "No problem on our end." He holds out his hand and Barry drops the earpieces in Cisco's palm. As he does, Barry realizes that he just might have made a terrible mistake. Cisco could vibe the alternate timeline from the earpieces.

But Cisco doesn't. He simply put the earpieces onto a scope and gives them a thorough check. Barry holds his breath. Not only could Cisco vibe them, but the tech might even be different in this timeline.

And apparently, it's not. Cisco gives him a disgusted look. "You need to do a better job with the Q-tips, bro. The earwax that's built up in these is epic." And then he gives Harrison a meaningful look for no reason that Barry can figure out. And he's even more puzzled when Harrison looks at _him_ , as if he has something to say about his personal hygiene.

Caitlin goes into the med bay, and comes back with a small bottle. "This should help with the ear wax problem. Use them after you shower." 

Barry goes to take the bottle, but Harrison intercepts it. "I'll make sure he does."

Barry keeps his mouth shut. It seems for the best.

Except that Harrison's giving him that look again – it's filled with too much concern, a touch of speculation, and something that Barry is afraid to name. "Are you sure you're all right."

"Yeah – I'm fine, really."

Harrison lets out a skeptical _hmm_ and asks, "Have you eaten? I'd be up for an early supper." 

Barry pats his stomach, relieved at the diversion. "I had a late lunch but I'm kind of hungry. You know how it is." It's not a complete lie. "Shall I go to…" He's about to say Big Belly Burger, but then he realizes that he doesn't know if this Harrison even likes hamburgers.

But Harrison doesn't notice his hesitation. "Big Belly Burger, if you wouldn't mind. And tonight, I'll have a double-double with a medium-sized fries."

Caitlin calls out from the med bay, "Don't forget, extra cheese for Doctor Wells – Harrison, not Harry, I mean."

Harrison sighs. "You'd think a medical doctor would have me on protein shakes to fatten me up, but not our Doctor Snow. She recommends junk food, instead. I knew there was a reason why I adore her."

Caitlin comes back into the Cortex. "Those shakes are little more than liquid candy bars anyway, and you need solid food. Besides, I know you don't enjoy them and will spill them out when you don't think I'm looking. You need all of the calories you can get, Doctor Wells. You need to get back your strength. If I didn't know it might make you sick, I'd have Barry get you a triple-triple."

Harrison smiles at Caitlin, but the expression seems a bit abstracted. "I'll get there, just be patient. After all, I was a corpse for almost a decade and a half, and I've only been alive for two years – it's just going to take some time to get back to normal."

Barry bites his lip, hard, to keep his jaw from dropping. Apparently something happened – the Singularity? Eobard Thawne's unmaking? – that brought the original Harrison Wells back to life.

Thankfully, no one notices his reaction. Harrison keeps chatting, "It wasn't so long ago that no one thought I'd ever walk again, and now – " Harrison pulls out the cane and puts the break on his chair before standing up. He takes a few steps around the Cortex and then eases back into his wheelchair. "See? I'm getting more mobile every day."

Caitlin pats Harrison's arm before lifting his wrist to check his pulse.

"I'm in pretty good shape for a former dead man, wouldn't you say?" Harrison's looking at him and Barry nods, his heart in his throat. 

Harrison takes his glasses off. "Barry – seriously, are you okay?"

"Really, I am fine." Barry's about to say "Doctor Wells" but the title sticks in his throat. There's so much intimacy in Harrison's gaze that using the honorific seems wrong. "Harrison."

At that, Harrison reaches for his hand and squeezes it. "Without you, Barry, I don't know if I would have ever had the strength to even live."

Barry finds himself overwhelmed by emotion. Not only the strangeness of this new timeline, but the very idea that the original Harrison Wells, the man murdered by Eobard Thawne, is alive and well.

He needs distance, a little perspective. "I'm going to get dinner." Barry looks around the Cortex. "Cisco? Your usual?"

Cisco nods and Barry knows that means a triple-triple without lettuce but with extra pickles and extra hot sauce, because whatever timeline he's in – that's always going to be Cisco's "usual". 

Barry doesn't bother to ask Caitlin, she's holding up a plastic bowl, undoubtedly filled with something healthy – her _usual_.

Before Barry leaves, he ducks his head into Harry's lab. "Your usual?"

Harry doesn't bother looking up when he says, "Nah, tonight I want a fish filet with extra lettuce and mayo, plus a double order of apple slices."

Barry doesn't move. He doesn't believe what he's hearing. "Um, sure?"

Harry looks at him and Barry's still not prepared for that damaged face. "No, of course not. Have you ever seen me eat fish? Or apples?"

"Your usual, then." Barry forces out a tiny, relieved laugh. There are only so many changes he can accept.

"Of course, Allen. In all the time you've known me, have you seen me get anything but a triple-triple with large fries and a cola?"

"Mmm, no?" That is true.

"So why would I start now?"

Barry just shakes his head. "Okay, I won't ask again."

He goes and comes back in the space of three minutes. The meal that follows is convivial and Barry finds himself quickly sinking into this timeline, even though it's only been a few hours and there's so much he doesn't know. It's not that the memories of his other life are disappearing, it's just that everything about the presence of Harrison Wells feels right and natural and perfect.

Barry can't remember the last time everything felt this good. Maybe the months and weeks before he discovered the truth about Eobard Thawne.

As they finish up, Harrison asks, "Are you going out to patrol tonight?"

Barry's strangely unwilling to hit the streets tonight. "Cisco, anything out there that I need to be worried about?"

"Nope, bro. You and Harrison can head home. Harry and I will keep watch for a few hours before turning the comms onto auto. You two newlyweds should enjoy an evening together."

Barry blinks. _Newlyweds?_

And before he can say or do anything stupid, Harrison takes his hand. "Almost forgot this." 

Barry forgets how to breathe when Harrison slips a bright gold band on his ring finger. It's shiny and new. And it's right then that he notices Harrison's wearing one on his finger, too. Just as bright, just as shiny. Just as new.

Harrison's still holding his hand, and then he raises it to his lips, first kissing the ring and then turning the hand so he can kiss Barry's palm. 

Barry shivers, feeling lost. And yet excited, too. _Married. To Harrison Wells. To a man he doesn't know._ He should be worried, he should be frightened and freaked out. But he can't summon any of those emotions. 

Instead, Barry grasps Harrison's fingers and gently tugs them so that he can kiss them, all the while keeping his eyes locked with his husband's.

In the background, he hears Caitlin's happy sigh, and something similar from Cisco. Harry, of course, doesn't sigh. Instead he makes a suggestion. "Maybe you two ought to take that home and flaunt your marital happiness in private.

Harrison snarks back, "Of course, Harry – why should we want to share our joy with our friends and family?" But Harrison's tone is mild and it seems like this is an old and familiar argument between the two of them.

Harrison squeezes Barry's hand and then lets it go. "Shall we go home, love?"

Barry's willingness to go home with is _husband_ marred by the sudden realization that he doesn't know where home actually is.

But he does have his speed and he does need to get into his civilian clothes. He lingers for a little bit in the speed force and checks his phone. To his relief, the address is familiar. It's Thawne's house – the one he'd inherited, along with S.T.A.R. Labs and a warehouse full of patents and licenses that pay for things like Cisco's and Caitlin's salary and the three satellites still in geosynchronous orbit.

And of course, his slight delay is noticed. It seems that everything he does today is noticed.

Cisco asks, "Problems with the suit?"

"No – just tripped over my own two feet."

Harry chuckles, "Tell me, Allen – what's it like taking a pratfall in the speed force?"

Barry makes an effort and snarks back. "Not fun, Wells. Not fun at all." He turns to his husband, "Shall we leave this comedy troupe to practice their routine?"

Harrison smiles and Barry feels like he's been given everything he's ever asked for. "Certainly." As Harrison rolls past Harry, he points out, "Please remember, Harry, it's not 'Allen' anymore, it's 'Wells'. Barry Wells. And if you insist on using his last name, expect us both to respond."

Harry makes a strangled sound, something between a frustrated growl and startled laugh.

Barry looks down at Harrison and basks in the glow of those bright blue eyes gazing back at him. It's familiar, but it's not. How many times had he looked Eobard from this position? How many times had they shared a private smile before going off to some private space – an office with a locked door, an apartment in a Central City high rise, that house in the forest – before giving into their desires? 

But this reality is better. This is the real Harrison Wells, not the man who'd murdered his mother.

Barry's subtle, or hoping that he is, in letting Harrison take the lead, showing him which vehicle they're using. And naturally, it's the S.T.A.R. Labs van that Cisco had equipped with a passenger side lift gate and gear necessary to secure a wheelchair.

Barry lets Harrison situate himself and gets behind the wheel. They've been driving for a few miles and Barry's kept quiet for fear of saying something stupid. Harrison breaks the comfortable silence with some news, "If I'm diligent and I stick with my exercises, Caitlin thinks I'll be out of the wheelchair for good in a month."

"That is excellent!" Barry has no clue about his husband's physical condition. Is he simply debilitated from _being a corpse_ or is there something else going on? "Whatever you need, I'm with you. You know that." He takes his hand off the steering wheel and reaches out. Harrison takes his hand and squeezes it.

"Of course. But you have more important things to do than play physical therapist."

"You're my husband, Harrison. You're the most important person in my life." Barry doesn't even have to think about those words.

"And I love you, for that and for so many other reasons. But I can't be so selfish. I'm just looking forward to leaving the wheelchair behind for good."

Barry hopes he understand and cautiously adds, "So you can travel by speedster all the time?"

Harrison lets out a shout of laughter. "That's actually number two on my list. I'm sure you can imagine what is on the top … of that list."

Barry feels himself blushing at what he hopes is a double-entendre. He risks a quick glance at Harrison and enjoys the gleam of desire in his eyes. "I'm sure I can."

They are home soon enough, and as the S.T.A.R. Labs van pulls up to the door, the whole house lights up. Barry doesn't remember that feature from his times here with Eobard, but that doesn't matter. 

He walks around to the passenger side, not to help Harrison out, but simply to make sure everything works properly. And it does. Harrison smiles at him and they walk and roll side by side to the front door. Harrison does the honors and places his palm on the lock; the door swings open with an elegant whoosh. Harrison rolls in, says something about needing a few moments of privacy and heads down the hall towards the bedrooms.

Wandering around, Barry finds the interior much as his memory, elegant and almost intimidating, but no longer as sparse. There are framed photos on a few of the tables, mostly of him and Harrison, and Barry can see that when he gets the chance to study them, he'll be able to track his husband's progress back to health.

But the photo that holds his attention the most is what is clearly their wedding picture - the two of them in tuxedos with matching boutonnieres. Harrison looks much like he does now, and Barry remembers Harry's comments about newlyweds. So it's likely that their wedding is recent event. Harrison is standing, but leaning on his cane and he – Barry – is standing so close to Harrison that the proverbial piece of paper wouldn't fit between them. They are looking at each other as if there's no one else in the room, or perhaps, in the entire world. Barry knows his own face and he knows his own eyes and he knows he can't lie like this. Although Eobard _might_ have been able to lie like this, Barry can't imagine that Harrison can. 

Whatever he sees in this photo is the truth.

Barry has to wonder how this happened, how the two of them have fallen so deeply, so passionately, in love.

"The happiest day of my life." Harrison's voice is quiet.

Barry's startled, he hadn't heard his husband roll back into the room. Because he hadn't. Harrison's upright, he'd walked in, leaning on a cane. 

"Perhaps, I should clarify – the happiest moment of _this_ life. But you understand that, Barry, don't you?"

Barry does. He knows little of Tess Morgan – the bits and pieces that Tina McGee had provided a few years go – but he can understand Harrison's qualification. "Of course I do." He tucks his arm around Harrison's waist – not so much to support him, but to take advantage of their physical closeness.

Harrison leans forward and picks up the photo. "Do you have any idea how happy you make me, Barry Wells?" 

"As happy as you make me, Harrison Wells." Barry takes the photo out of Harrison's hand and puts it back down. And then, in a moment of utter daring, he turns and kisses his husband – a stranger – on the lips.

Barry tastes toothpaste and mouthwash, and he smiles into the kiss, imagining that Harrison's tasting the remnants of _his_ burger and fries.

But Harrison doesn't seem to mind as he deepens the kiss. And then almost falls into Barry. "Whoops – sorry. I'm not perfectly steady yet."

Barry holds Harrison gently. "It's okay – I don't mind. You can lean on me, always."

Harrison does lean, but then pulls himself back. "I know, but I'd prefer to stand on my own feet." He sighs, as if this is a discussion they've had many times before.

"And you will. But physical strength isn't everything, you know."

"Says the superhero." Harrison tone is light, but there is a little bit of bitterness there.

"So says _your_ superhero." Barry can't explain it, but there's a deep and profound link between him and this virtual stranger. He's tired of fighting, and his other self – the one who'd married Harrison Wells – apparently didn't need to fight, either.

Harrison looks at him and Barry almost melts from the love in his husband's eyes. "Yes, mine. Not _all_ mine – because a hero can't belong to just one person – but I'm the only one who gets to call you husband, the only one who gets to this." Harrison manages to squirrel a hand under Barry's clothes and caress his bare skin. "And certainly the only one who can fuck you until you cry." Harrison scuffs his nipple with the edge of his thumb and then pinches it.

Barry shivers, not only at the caress, but at the deliberate coarseness of Harrison's words. They summon the echo of a memory. Thawne had done that to him, too – made him cry from delight and longing and need. But Eobard Thawne is dead – unmade – and Harrison is alive, and Barry can only hope that Harrison can make him cry, too. 

"Mmm. Maybe an early bedtime?" Harrison slowly withdraws his hand and Barry's chilled by the loss of contact.

"Sounds … lovely." Barry lets Harrison lead him towards the back of the house, towards what he hopes is their bedroom. It would be rather awkward for him to open doors at random. 

He doesn't have to – the double doors at the end of the hallway are open and Barry's relieved to see signs that they both occupy this room. Harrison's wheelchair is in a corner, but there are bits and pieces of Barry's life in the room, too. A photo of him and Joe and Iris on a bureau, a small stack of books and periodical on a nightstand – books he knows he's been reading and copies of The Journal of Forensic Chemistry.

"You seem lost. Is everything all right?" Harrison rests a hand on his back, right between his shoulders. Barry feels grounded by that simple touch.

"Yeah – it's just been a strange day."

"Why?" Harrison's concern is understandable.

But Barry has to shrug it off. "Don't know. You have those days, right? Where things don't seem quite real?"

"Oh, Barry – that describes most of my days, this time around. I wake up next to you and have to pinch myself. Literally. To be alive, to have control of my own body …" Harrison shakes his head. "No – this is not a conversation we need to have _again_.

Harrison kisses Barry, but as he starts to get undressed, Harrison gives him a pointed look and then sighs. "I hate this, and I know it's ridiculous, but would you mind …" He tilts his head towards the partially open bathroom door. 

Barry understands. Harrison doesn't want him to see him when he's vulnerable. So he heads into the bathroom and puts the time to good use. 

Their lives are on fully display, here. Things that the ordinary visitor wouldn't see, like medications. There's half a dozen prescription bottles on the counter and Barry recognizes most of them – muscle relaxants, mild prescription analgesics, an antihistamine – and there's nothing that worries him about his husband's long-term health. 

There is one bottle that gives Barry pause, though. Not for worry, but for _other_ reasons. 

_His husband has boner pills._

Barry smiles, delighted in the knowledge that he and Harrison have a complete sexual relationship. And the bottle is just a drop out of alignment from the others, which leads Barry – ever the forensic scientist – to conclude that this bottle has been recently disturbed.

_So this is why Harrison disappeared as soon as we got home. Why he suggested an early bedtime._

Barry doesn't mind and leaves off the perusal of the sink to see what other information he can glean. There is one thing that raises an eyebrow. Hanging next to what Barry presumes is his burgundy robe, is a black robe, trimmed in bright yellow piping. 

The Reverse-Flash's colors.

Barry shakes himself. It's a coincidence, nothing more. Or perhaps a joke between the two of them.

There's something else that attracts his attention. To one side of the sink, close to the shower, not obvious but not out of the way either, is a bottle of personal lubricant and a zippered case. Barry takes a peek inside the case and finds a butt plug. It's deep red – almost the exact color of his suit. It's also the perfect length and thickness and angle for him. 

If Harrison's getting himself ready, then he should return the favor. A quick shower is in order, followed by some self-prep. Barry's more than half hard by the time he's done. He doesn't bother with the robe – there's nothing to hide.

Wearing nothing but his wedding ring, Barry heads into the bedroom, his erection leading the way.

Harrison's in bed, a tablet on his lap, with the covers tucked half-way up his chest. His glasses slip to at the edge of his nose when he looks up. He puts the tablet and the eyeglasses aside and licks lips. "Ah. I feel as if I should make some vaguely obscene comment, but I find myself lost for words."

Before Barry can think of a witty reply – and he's never been very good with those – Harrison adds, "But then you often have a way of leaving me speechless, my Barry."

Harrison's shoulders – he's left off his own pajamas, or at least the top – gleam under the night table lamp. There's strength there, muscle that's belied by the relative gauntness of his face. Barry supposes that is the result of months – years, even – of physical therapy. He has to wonder at what he'll find below the waist.

"Come here." 

Barry swallows hard at the sternness of Harrison's request. His cock twitches and his muscles clench around the plug in his ass.

"You saw what I left out for you."

Barry nods, his mouth dry.

"Good. Turn around."

Of course Barry complies – how can he not – and Harrison explores his ass. His palms are hard and callused – another by-product of his physical therapy, no doubt – and a little cool. Barry stifles a tiny whimper as Harrison discovers the plug and wriggles it around. 

"I'm pleased that you've done as I've wanted without me having to ask."

Again, the sternness in Harrison's tone causes a visceral reaction. One compounded when one of those hands curves around his hip and cups his balls. Harrison's teasing him now and Barry whines helplessly. It's been so long since he's had _this_.

"What do you want, Barry?" 

"Everything you can give me."

Harrison pulls him back, onto the bed, and somehow, Barry doesn't end up sprawled over his husband.

Harrison's grinning, looking a little mischievous, a little naughty – nothing at all like the man who'd just casually asserted his dominance over Barry.

The sheets and blankets have fallen down to Harrison's lap and Barry sees past the illusion of strength. Yes, there's muscle in Harrison's upper arms and shoulders, but there's still too much evidence of debilitation in the clear delineation of ribcage and sternum. 

Something must show on Barry's face, because Harrison's own face falls and he seems to separate himself from Barry.

But Barry doesn't let him go and he's quick to reassure him. "No, no – I was just appreciating how damn _good_ you look." To prove his point, Barry perches over Harrison, trapping him. He caresses his husband, not in an attempt to placate or appease, but to show his very real desire.

And Harrison accepts it for what it is. "I'm sorry – I just … I was never a vain man, but then I look at you and wonder how did a god like you comes to love such an unworthy, sickly acolyte like me."

"I am not a god - not in the least. What I am is your husband. There is nothing to wonder about." Barry kisses Harrison, with all the need and fullness of his desire. He trails kisses along Harrison's jaw, his neck, up to his ear, and whispers. "I am yours to command."

Those words unlock something in his husband, a fierceness that sends Barry tumbling into the abyss. He becomes pliable, letting Harrison manipulate him into just the right position. He's on his back, thighs splayed and Harrison's there, between his legs. 

Barry absently takes in his husband's body, but his mind is captured by Harrison's words as he tells Barry what he wants to do, what he is doing, and what he will do. 

"I want to tie you up. I want to bind you so you can't move."

Barry sucks in his breath, his lungs refusing to work. His hands go above his head and he grips the edge of the headboard, as if he's been tied to it.

Harrison nods his approval and continues, "On the surface, that would be ridiculous - you're a speedster and you can simple vibrate out of any rope I use. You could phase through handcuffs and shackles. But I want to take you so deep that you can't summon the control you'd need to free yourself."

"I wouldn't want to be free." Barry's words are a whisper.

"No, of course you wouldn't. You never do." There's an undercurrent of darkness in Harrison's tone that skitters across Barry's nerves, like something moving at the far edge of his peripheral vision. But then Harrison takes his cock in hand, he's jacking him with slow strokes and whatever Barry thought he'd needed to recognize was lost in the tide of pleasure his husband was pulling from him.

"I want to fuck you, Barry. May I fuck you?" That darkness is back.

Barry looks at Harrison, confused and worried. Why would he even ask? "Please, please fuck me."

Harrison smiles and again, Barry loses that thread. Harrison's toying with the plug in his ass, pulling it out and pushing it back in in a mimicry of copulation. Barry's hips rise and fall, but this isn't want he wants. "Your cock, fuck me with your cock."

"Good boy. You know what to ask for."

The sudden emptiness in him is on the wrong side pain as Harrison pulls the plug all of the way out. Barry whines and whimpers and lifts his hips in need. "So empty - please, please, please."

"Shh, shh, my darling." Harrison languidly pets Barry's thigh and then kisses it. "You are so good for me. Just be patient a little while longer."

Harrison retrieves something from one of the nightstands, and Barry, with his arms still above his head, still clinging to the headboard, can't see. But the snap of a bottle cap triggers a Pavlovian response. He then hears the slip-slide of a hand against skin and shifts just enough to watch his husband slick himself up. Harrison's cock is beautiful and Barry tries not to remember just how familiar it is. Long and veiny and on the perfect side of meaty. 

His body remembers, though, what it is like to be filled with a cock that size and shape and Barry spreads his thighs apart as much as he can. He tilts his hips and focuses on the reality of Harrison kneeling between his legs - this is something he'd never had with Eobard. He's perfectly stretched, but Harrison is taking his time, fingering him, teasing his rim, making him beg.

Words spill out of Barry's mouth, incomprehensible, incoherent words. Words of love and need and lust, and the only thing Barry has control over is the part of his brain that remembers that this is Harrison Wells and not Eobard Thawne.

Harrison finally pushes into Barry and the tears start. Barry feels complete, he feels owned and loved and that he will never be alone again. He lets go of the headboard and reaches for his husband, who comes into his arms. The pillows go flying and Barry is flat against the mattress, Harrison covering him, both of their arms are outstretched and fingers entwined as Harrison rocks into him.

Barry loses all sense of time and place as Harrison's mouth finds his and there is no part of Barry that is not captured and held by his husband.

He starts to vibrate and he can't stop. He doesn't know if he's hurting Harrison and he can't find the will to ask. But Harrison is plunging in and pulling out and with each stroke, caressing parts of Barry that he'd thought had long since died.

Harrison's pulled his mouth away and buries his face in Barry's neck, moaning, "Barry, my Barry, my Barry," as his hips rock back and forth. It's almost too much and not quite enough, and Barry - despite his speedster's metabolism - is caught on the edge of orgasm for too many long minutes. 

He's begging, "Please, please, make me come. I need to come so badly." The intrusive thoughts return - he's been here before, with Eobard, who'd keep him hanging until …

Harrison mouths Barry's neck, kisses the taut muscle and skin and buries his teeth, biting down hard.

The pain is a perfect rush and Barry comes. He's crying and shaking - not just with the speedster's uncontrolled vibrations - but with everything he's got. Harrison rears back and grips Barry's hips, holding him in place while he takes his own pleasure.

Barry hears his husband's shout as _he_ orgasms. Barry feels the hot rush of semen in him and he's finally complete.

A few moments later, Harrison collapses against Barry and then rolls off of him - the separation sending aftershocks through Barry. The air is cool against his sweaty, come-covered skin. It takes an effort to get up, but Barry does. He goes to the bathroom and comes back with a damp washcloth and a towel. He cleans his husband up and then himself.

As Barry bends over to pick up the pillows and covers, he again feels the echo of pleasure in his body, his ass clenches against the memory of Harrison's cock filling him.

Bedcovers sorted, pillows returned to their rightful place, Barry climbs back into bed and tries to sort out his feelings. 

"Barry?" Harrison's touch on Barry's shoulder is gentle, almost tentative. "Are you all right? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Barry turns and looks at his husband, who's now leaning over him. There's so much love and way too much worry in those brilliant blue eyes. Harrison strokes his face, rubbing his thumb against the arch of Barry's cheekbone. 

"I made you cry."

Barry smiles. "You're the only one who can, Harrison."

Harrison stares down at him, and in the dim light, Barry sees a spark of red flare in his husband's eyes. 

Barry's frozen. _No._ It has to be a trick of the light.

Then his husband says, "Not the only one, _Flash_." The emphasis on that last word, the love and triumph and possessiveness are as familiar as they are unexpected.

He mouths the name "Eobard?" Saying those syllables aloud will make this too real.

His husband's smile sharpens, takes on a too-familiar cast. "Don't ever forget, Barry, that no matter how many times you mess with the timeline, I _always_ win." Then he kisses Barry and it's familiar and beautiful and terrible. It's everything that Barry has missed and every thing that Barry has feared.

But when Eobard break away and looks down at Barry again, the face above him is recast into the gentler lines of the man he'd thought was his husband. 

"What's the matter?" The tone is worried, there's no triumph there, no mockery. Just love and concern.

Barry can't form a single coherent thought.

His husband - whoever he is - cards his fingers through Barry's hair and murmurs, "Then sleep, my Barry. It's been a long day and we both need our rest." Harrison - Eobard - his _husband_ relaxes against him, spooning him from behind. With an arm draped across Barry's waist, his breath falls into the even rhythms of sleep.

Barry just lies there as his mind finally starts working again. He doesn't know what has happened, but he finds that he doesn't care. He rests his hand over his husband's and their wedding bands rub against each other with a soft, barely audible clink.

At peace, Barry lets sleep claim him too.

_FIN_

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a imagine prompt from a nonnie on Tumblr, that I wrote a [tiny kinda-sorta ficlet](http://elrhiarhodan.tumblr.com/post/150320846260/ok-but-imagine-barry-going-back-in-time-to-change) for. (Really not a ficlet, more just fleshing out an idea I had, but forgotten about). It then kind of ate my brain. 
> 
> THIS IS A ONE-SHOT. Yeah, yeah, I don't really _do_ a lot of one-shots, but this one is. Okay? Seriously. Please believe me.
> 
> And as always, feel free to follow me at my tumblr [Obscene Circus Ponies](http://elrhiarhodan.tumblr.com/), and on my old school (and much beloved) [LiveJournal](http://elrhiarhodan.livejournal.com/) account.


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